


REUNION - sequel to XERXES

by vanhunks



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanhunks/pseuds/vanhunks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Admirals Paris and Ponsonby travel to a distant planet in response to what they believe to be an emergency of diplomatic magnitude. Instead, they discover something else...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mary Stark, for inspired editing on this story. I owe her a debt I can never repay. 
> 
> Paramount owns Janeway, Chakotay, Delta Flyer.

The message had been short, curt, and cloaked in secrecy. The Council of Randor, seventeen light years from Deep Space Nine, requested a delegation from the United Federation of Planets to deal with a matter of diplomatic urgency. Since the Federation had no official business with Randor, they'd been mystified by the nature of the appeal. Starfleet Command had been reluctant to acquiesce to a demand of so little substance, but their innate human curiosity had quickly overcome any opposition. What, they stated, if it were a matter of Federation security and what, they argued, if that security were breached simply because they did not heed every call? What if it were an emergency that had to do with some alien virus, perhaps to the degree that it could be a threat to Earth? In which case they'd be justified to make the journey. Then again, why not tell them straight away the nature of the problem?

Admiral Adam Ponsonby, the first to decrypt the message, was the obvious choice for the two man delegation that included Admiral Owen Paris. With their service records, their years in the admiralty, as well as their vast experience in diplomacy, they could go to Randor, solve the mystery, set some galactic minds at rest and return home with the assurance that the Federation was safe from infiltration and war. 

They'd been rushed through the formalities of off-world travel, said hasty goodbyes to their families and traveled to Deep Space Nine on the USS Pryor, a nebula class starship, before they made their way here. 

Adam Ponsonby was worried, worried about his wife Gretchen and Kathryn, his stepdaughter. Kathryn had gone into hiding. Remaining completely incommunicado, she'd left her commbadge at her apartment in San Francisco. No one knew where to find her. At a stretch, he supposed that they could, but he had told everyone to respect her wishes to be alone, to come to terms finally with Chakotay's passing. He had read Deanna Troi's report. Kathryn's admission that she had been the one who transgressed had come as a shock, and yet, when they'd all thought about it, not such a surprise after all. Chakotay was every inch as honourable a warrior as Kathryn was and what Adam had learned from the logs and Kathryn's personal account he'd been able to draw a profile of this man whom she’d loved so much.’ 

After that last day with Deanna Troi, Kathryn had told then in quiet words of her own part in Chaktoay's death. They'd left for Indiana where Kathryn spent a few days with them. There'd been a new air about her, although they sensed that she needed much more time to be herself again. 

The sooner they got to Randor, completed the mission and returned to Earth, the better. He missed Gretchen and Phoebe and her son, Naren who called him Grandpa.

Six days later, the two admirals stood before the great archway that led to the approach of the medical facility of the first city of Randor. They'd travelled from Earth to Deep Space Nine and from there to Randor II, second planet of the Randor System. While at Deep Space Nine, they'd received further communication about the nature of their visit to Randor. 

Adam Ponsonby had raised an elegant eyebrow.

"A medical emergency, Consul?"

And Owen Paris had blustered, "Gah! You called the wrong people to do house calls!"

The Randorian Communicator had remained unruffled when he replied, "My apologies. But more I cannot divulge, since we know so little ourselves. It is our hope that you can assist us in solving this."

Adam Ponsonby thought the Consul sounded too eager to shift responsibility to someone else, in this case the Federation. Randor was not a member of the Federation and was under no obligation to deal with anything they considered to be Federation matters. Owen Paris had muttered under his breath something about wanting to get home to his wife. The moment the Consul closed communication, Owen Paris had given Adam a jaundiced glare and muttered, "I knew it. Starfleet is putting us out to pasture…"

Now they walked towards the great double doors of the hospital. Owen Paris appeared stocky next to the lanky Adam Ponsonby. At the entrance they were met by a Randorian in uniform. He looked dour, a displeased expression on his face.

"Greetings."

"Greetings," returned Owen. "We are Admirals Paris and Pons - "

"Yes, we know," the officer cut in sharply. "From the United Federation of Planets. Our world is not a member."

"We know that," muttered Paris under his breath. 

Adam knew he'd been stewing on the way to Randor on the apparently useless mission of solving a medical problem. Why they didn't just hail Doctor Crusher had been beyond him. 

"I'd much rather be home and be present when Kathryn decides to return to humanity," he'd told Adam.

"Aye, don't you think I'd wish for that too? She's my stepdaughter. I have a great affection for her. She's been troubled since Voyager's return and I'm just as worried…"

"You know that all they want is to get us old fogeys out of the way. Make way for the new guard. Young ones like Kathryn… We're getting too old for this sort of thing," Paris blustered.

"At least, Deanna Troi has been wonderful with her… Kathryn's come to realise - "

"Well, she's accepted her part in Chakotay’s death and is dealing with it," Owen Paris said. 

"It's just so damnable that a world like Xerxes could impose such intolerable laws, Owen. A man gets sentenced to death for stepping on an altar…well, we now know that Kathryn was the one who transgressed. But still, to burn to death and let Voyager's crew witness it… 

"It almost destroyed her, Adam, you know that. We need a well adjusted officer out there. You know we're thinking of sending her on a series of diplomatic missions to the Delta Quadrant - "

"For that, Owen Paris, I expect we're going to wait a while…"

"However long it takes…but you know that Seven of Nine, Harry Kim, Tom and B'Elanna are on the verge of a breakthrough with transwarp…"

Adam Ponsonby knew about the covert operation. Why shouldn't he? He headed the Strategic Division, while Owen Paris had been at the heart of the Pathfinder Mission. The new Delta Flyer would be the first Federation vessel fitted with transwarp drive; Kathryn and the core of her Voyager crew had been earmarked to spearhead several diplomatic missions to the Delta Quadrant. 

He was brought back to the present when the Randorian officer coughed in an exaggerated manner. 

"We would like to know what's going on," Adam told him, "…so we may conclude our business…" 

The nameless officer didn't reply. Instead, he inclined his head, motioning that they follow him. They walked along a long, wide, pristine corridor. The officer paused once to look at both men.

"You will meet with our Chief Commandant, Doctor Dario Kleibe. He will explain the patient's condition."

"Patient?" Owen shot Adam a surprised glance. "What was supposed to be a covert mission to retrieve information regarding breaches in the Federation's security grids turns out to be a sick patient?"

"Indeed. Covert, as you say, Admiral Paris," the nameless officer replied. "In so far as the identity of our patient is unknown to us, as well as the circumstances surrounding his appearance in our system." 

"So how would you know that it's the business of the Federation?" Ponsonby asked.

"You shall hear shortly." 

With that the two admirals had to be content.

Sighing, Adam followed Paris and the officer. Whatever it was that awaited them on the other side of the double doors where the officer stopped and turned to face them, required his complete attention.

"Doctor Kleibe will see you now," the nameless officer said curtly before the doors opened. "I must warn you, Admirals, it is not an easy thing to see…" 

"Believe me, officer, there aren't that many things that will shock me…" Paris said as they entered slowly. 

On the far side of the ward they immediately noticed the high bed. A doctor they presumed to be Doctor Kleibe moved hurriedly towards them. Without speaking or any introductions, he led them back to the bed. 

Paris was to rue his words although Ponsonby managed to hide his shock as both men looked down on the patient. By the body physique they thought it could be male. Ponsonby had seen bodies burnt beyond recognition, bodies that had seemed to shrink from the severe burns, seen just outlines of what must once have been humans. This could be anything. There was a head, a blackened face, arms, torso, legs… 

"Human?" he whispered the question through clenched teeth.

"We have been able to determine a human genome, Admiral. We believe him to be human."

The patient on the bed was burnt beyond recognition. There were no identifiable features, no hair on his head. His breathing was barely discernable, evidence of a heartbeat to be seen only in the lazy blips on the monitor above the bed . The body was suspended about ten centimetres above the mattress, a measure they realised, to prevent the burns on his back from degeneration. There was a smell about them of burnt flesh. How, Ponsonby wondered, could such a man still be alive? 

"Who is this man? Who could survive such burns?" Admiral Ponsonby asked.

"We do not know, Admiral," Doctor Kleibe replied. "He was attacked in his shuttle by a world in the next system. They found his shuttle adrift near their third moon and fired on him. He had appeared as if from nowhere…"

"A wormhole, perhaps?" Paris asked.

"That may be very likely. We picked up the appearance of the vessel on our own long range sensors. It was already damaged when it appeared."

"Then why attack it?" Ponsonby asked, leaning over the patient with a frown. "If his shuttle was already damaged, surely he could not have posed a threat to his attackers?"

"Perhaps you will understand, Admiral, when I tell you that the Wakru claim that no other vessel of any kind had entered their space at that specific point in over a thousand years. They're a hostile race, guarding their space very jealously, I must say. No visitors…"

"So they fired," Paris said, "thinking an already damaged vessel a threat and destroying it?"

"Yes, it would seem so." Doctor Kleibe sounded outraged when he spoke.

"So how did the patient end up here?"

"Some Wakru discovered one lifesign just before they fired on the vessel. Although they transported him moments before destroying the vessel, they considered him a liability. Randor has had some dealings with the Federation before, so he was unceremoniously dumped here…"

"I must ask you, Doctor," Admiral Paris began, frowning heavily as he spoke, "how they knew it could be the business of the United Federation of Planets?"

"The vessel that was destroyed carried Federation signatures. It is believed that the pilot had sent out a distress call before he was attacked - "

"Yet the Wakru persisted in engaging an already stricken vessel," Adam Ponsonby muttered. 

"They stop at nothing. The Delta Flyer - "

"Delta Flyer?" both men chorused in surprise.

"Yes, Admirals. We believe that was what this pilot's vessel was called."

"There is only one Delta Flyer, the Delta Flyer II. My son, Lieutenant Tom Paris, his wife and two others are at this point experimenting with transwarp drive using the new concept Flyer my son designed. I was in communication with them fifteen hours ago…" 

"That was the name the pilot mentioned when he sent the distress call. Unfortunately, we do not know his name. Admirals, we believe this man to be a member of your Starfleet."

"I'm puzzled, Doctor," Adam Ponsonby said softly. "My colleague can vouch for the existence of the real Delta Flyer II."

"This patient is dying, Admiral Paris," Doctor Kleibe responded. "We've asked you here because your medical technology surpasses ours. We have managed to keep him in this suspended state, but his injuries are too severe. We do not have the technology to - to fix him…if he can be fixed…"

"I wonder who it is?" said Adam Ponsonby.

"Well, Admirals, since he came through a wormhole, we can safely assume that the other end of it is in the Delta Quadrant. Perhaps you have knowledge of your people in that quadrant?"

"Oh no…"

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Adam?" Owen asked.

"Do you know something of this man, Admirals?"

"It cannot be… Chakotay is dead…" Adam whispered. "Surely…those images we've seen in Voyager's logs could not lie? We saw his body consumed by fire."

"This is not possible," Owen Paris added. "The most likely person we think it could be, Commander Chakotay, is dead."

At that moment the lazy blipping on the monitor suddenly accelerated. The patient expelled some air, the burnt chest rose then fell. One eyelid moved with great difficulty, then the other. Slowly, both eyelids dragged with superhuman effort upwards until they were half open. Paris, Ponsonby and Kleibe stared into black eyes. There was no other movement, save the imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. The patient seemed to focus his eyes on Owen Paris. 

Doctor Kleibe made a little sound of surprise. Adam Ponsonby drew in his breath sharply. Owen Paris was the first to recover from his momentary shock. It was clear to them that the distressed patient was unable to articulate. 

"Please, if you are able to…if you can hear us…blink…." Owen Paris urged softly. 

They waited what seemed like an eternity. The stricken man was weak, too weak to literally move a muscle. Yet, Adam Ponsonby could swear there was a certain determination about those black eyes. 

The man blinked once. Owen glanced up at Adam and nodded. One blink to a question would be enough. One blink meant affirmative. Paris leaned closer to the sick man. 

"Was your vessel the Delta Flyer?" he asked. 

A long pause. The patient blinked once, affirmative. Owen Paris glanced up sharply at Adam and nodded. Then he turned to the stricken man again.

"Were you on the USS Voyager?" Again, a slow blink. 

Paris nodded. Ponsonby wanted to whistle through his teeth, but he was wound up tightly, the thrill of the knowledge that they were very close to revealing the identity of their patient overwhelming. 

"Did you travel through a wormhole to reach the Alpha Quadrant?" Paris asked again. 

Another slow blink, affirmative. A small gasp from both men while the doctor remained a baffled onlooker. Adam touched Paris's arm, as if to caution. His heart was racing. It seemed fantastical, yet he sensed what Owen's next question was going to be. 

It could not be. It could not. Kathryn had died a thousand deaths and her family had suffered with her. They'd heard of the hard time she'd given her counsellor, then her eventual collapse when the truth came out. The knowledge that she was with child was not enough to ease the pain of acceptance. She could not go through this again, he realised. It was too fantastic that all one could dream of, that someone gone forever, could be wished back in the blink of an eye. Such things were left, he believed, in the hands of a Higher Power.

Paris glanced at him again, his mouth firm as he nodded. 

This was Starfleet. Anything was possible. Adam nodded in assent. The patient's eyes…liquid black, burning as if they were asking for help…

The Owen Paris straightened up.

"Are you Commander Chakotay, First Officer of the Federation Starship Voyager?"

There was a long pause. Adam wondered if Owen's words had sunk in. Then slowly, very slowly, the eyes closed, a tear rolling slowly down the burnt flesh of his cheek. The eyelids flickered, then a deep sigh escaped him as he slipped into a coma again. 

As improbable as it seemed, the dying man, burnt beyond recognition, attacked as he entered the Alpha Quadrant through a wormhole, was Commander Chakotay. It was beyond belief, yet the evidence before them was indisputable. How he had survived after appearing to burn to death on an alter of the planet Xerxes in the Delta Quadrant, which they themselves had witnessed in Voyager’s logs, they could only learn from Chakotay.

"Admirals…" Doctor Kleibe began slowly, "do you know this man?"

Adam Ponsonby found words impossible. His throat thickened and he wanted to berate himself for giving in to maudlin romanticism. But, he acknowledged silently, his family had all been through a difficult time, firmly believing this man lying in front of them to be dead. Kathryn, even with the comfort of her son in the coming years would never be the same again. Even through the terrible burns, the coma-like state he was lying in, Chakotay had heard their voices and responded with firm assurance that he was indeed the man they had all thought dead. How this had happened was not a question to be asked now, he realised. Later it would come to light. How Kathryn would react to this unbelievable new development, no one could divine. 

Right now, Chakotay was ill, dying, in need of major reconstruction surgery. There was only one medical wonder worker in the Federation who could successfully heal this man. 

They had to get Chakotay to Earth, to Voyager's Emergency Medical Hologram in the quickest possible time.

****


	2. Chapter 2

He heard voices. Indistinct, disconnected, they hovered above his head. Recognition was only in the tone of the voice. Tone. Colour. Tenor. He'd spent half his life relying on voices. It felt like half a lifetime away. But the voices persisted.

This one he could recognise not from the tone or tenor, but the mood. It penetrated deeply into his consciousness, traveled along neural pathways, synapses that passed encryptions to their desired targets - the memory banks of his brain.

EMH. Voyager. 

Yet he couldn't be on Voyager. He was dwelling in an abyss so deep that darkness itself appeared as the tangible fear. He hated fear, hated the abyss, for it was mysterious, too mysterious to divine. But voices had drifted into that abyss.

Voices. One was now familiar. The EMH. He wanted to respond to that voice, yet it remained indistinct, in danger of fading from the darkness. It didn't go away. Strangely, he felt as if it called him through the thick fog.

At first it was distant, an impulse that penetrated the black darkness at its outer edges. The impulse, now like needle pricks, advanced to another realm of his brain, away from the abyss. He could feel it, felt curiously that he wanted it, for it could drag him up and out of his abyss. He became aware of something else. Impulses that morphed into flashes, flashes that lifted him away from the thick fog. Bright, instant lights which disturbed more than they soothed. 

The light settled behind his eyelids and he cried out. Distressed by the brightness, he tried to move away.

Pain.

He tried to think when he had last felt pain. But events and dates coalesced and turned into a vortex of confusion and for a moment pain was forgotten. Yet, even as he tried to think, to identify perhaps the smallest of incidents, whisk it away from the vortex, something happened.

He saw flames. An attack. A ship seemed to take shape, then faded. The pain, again at the forefront, was relentless, causing him to retreat. to the darkness. The voice, however, kept drawing him away from it. When was the attack? Where? 

A long, swirling corridor of light. Another, crazy whirling vortex. His shuttle, colliding with the wall of the corridor of light. A wormhole. 

The Delta Flyer. First sensation was of systems failure right inside the wormhole. The unstable vortex, the collision with its walls, shunted from side to side in a maddening dash to reach the other side…

He gave another groan of pain. 

"Commander Chakotay…wake up…"

He had heard voices before. How long ago was it? A vague memory of an admiral leaning over him, asking him to blink… Admiral Paris…. There'd been another admiral with him. A doctor. The fog had lifted then, for a few very brief moments. Are you Commander Chakotay? Are you? He remembered a deep welling in his chest. He no longer felt lost. The voice sounded familiar. Sub space transmissions… Monthly communications.

I am Commander Chakotay of the starship Voyager. A vision appeared, a vision that filled his eyes, blanked out everything else. Kathryn. Kathryn in a blue dress, a light breeze whipping the skirt against her ankles as she walked towards him. Kathryn with her palm pressed against his shoulder as he lay on the biobed on Voyager. Kathryn who smiled into the imager when they'd been on one of their rare shore leave breaks.

But this new voice. Voyager's frosty doctor. You had to scratch hard at his photonic skin to pierce the frostiness for some warmth…empathy…compassion.

Chakotay gave a soft cry. The light was stronger, flashing behind closed eyelids. Then slowly it dimmed, relieving the pressure on his lids. Feeling bold, he dared to lift them. It hurt, but he persevered. Finally, he managed to prise them open. He could see, but everything was hazy, shifting maddeningly in and out of focus. The faces swam in front of him until at last, they stilled. He looked at them.

The EMH. The voice that dragged him up from the depths was his. Admiral Paris. Another man, also an admiral. He didn't recognise the fourth person. His gaze moved to Admiral Paris. He tried to smile, discovered it was impossible. His mouth felt dry too. 

"Welcome back, Commander Chakotay," said Admiral Paris.

Another sensation overcame him. A dryness in his throat. A raging thirst. His lips…he tried to lick them.  
Someone pressed a sponge against them. A feeling of faintness as the water soothed the heat, quenched it momentarily. He swallowed. Another cool cloth. Soft, balmy. When he tried to move his lips again, there was less resistance this time. 

"Where…am…I?"

"Commander, you are at Starfleet Medical. You suffered grave injuries…severe burns…" Admiral Paris said. 

"I…my Delta Flyer…attacked…" he croaked.

This time the strange admiral spoke. "Yes, we know. Commander, you require rest now."

"And gentlemen," the doctor piped up, "you need to leave my patient. Come again tomorrow. Commander Chakotay will feel better then."

The men glared at the EMH. Paris let out a "gah!" again and Ponsonby simply lifted his elegant eyebrow. Reluctantly they began to move away. 

"Wait…"

The two men turned instantly. The man with Admiral Paris… He had to know. About her… Somehow, this man could not be in the room if he weren't connected in some way.

"Who…?" he began as he looked at the stranger.

"I am Admiral Ponsonby. I was with Admiral Paris when we…rescued you… You were critically ill…burned severely. We did not recognise you."

In one of the rare messages she had allowed herself from home, Kathryn had told him her mother had married again. So this was the man… He had to know about her. Had to know. Why was she not here, at the hospital? Was she already on a mission to other worlds?

"Kathryn…?"

"We needed you healed first. The EMH has performed some miracles here. We will let Kathryn know…"

The older man moved away, too quickly it seemed. His eyes had avoided Chakotay's when he replied. Sharp blue eyes that had a guilty look in them. Before Chakotay could call him back again, Adam Ponsonby exited quietly. He was followed by Owen Paris who didn't look back.as he too, left the room. 

"T-thank…you…" Chakotay managed with a dry croak.

As soon as they were gone, the EMH approached the bed. The few words spoken had exhausted Chakotay, but he felt something burning in him as he stared at the doctor. 

"He was lying. I know it. Where is Kathryn Janeway?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "Commander, Captain Janeway is not here - "

"And she is not on any mission into deep space," Chakotay stated.

"Yes…no,. she is not. She has gone through a very traumatic time. Understandably…since she believes you to be dead. You died before her very eyes…"

"I…see…" Chakotay replied, a little puzzled.

"Commander, by the time Captain Janeway returned to the bridge, your ship was moving and the only image on the viewscreen was of your burning body. I believe they took pleasure in showing her those images."

"Then I must s - …"

"Your injuries… you cannot be moved, not for another few days…"

He had been burned, that he knew, from the first hectic journey through the wormhole. He remembered thinking that there had to be some systems failure, something had gone wrong. He remembered his distress signal… Then all hell broke loose.

"I thought I was going to die. I had to die…" he said softly, a tinge of mystique to his words. Then he looked straight into the eyes of the EMH.

"Tell me."

"Well, you were burnt beyond recognition. Admirals Paris and Ponsonby brought you here from a planet called Randor. Apparently you'd been dumped there by one of their neighbouring worlds."

"They fired on me despite my distress call. I posed no threat to them."

"I understood from Admiral Paris that's what must have happened."

"Kathryn…"

"In time, Commander. Right now you're recovering from major reconstructive surgery. Your new skin is still raw as I'm allowing it to heal naturally. That will take some time. Be patient."

Chakotay lifted his hand slowly. The new skin was flaky, peeling. He had no recollection of being burnt to a cinder and still remaining alive. In truth, he'd lain on an altar and burned with no injury to his body. As if some strange power had decided that he should die after all, a strange race fired on his damaged Flyer despite his call for help. After that everything was a haze, then pitch black darkness from which he hadn't wanted to emerge. He touched his face, felt the same flakiness there. His fingers trembled over the area of the tattoo. He looked at the EMH who just shook his head. Then Chakotay dropped his hand, exhausted from the exercise. He'd have to visit the Rubber Tree People again…

"I must find her." His tongue was slurring. He knew that soon he would dwell in darkness again. The EMH had pressed something against his neck. "I…must…find…her…tell…her…" After that he knew no more.

*

When he opened his eyes again, he felt better. A woman stood by his bed. She appeared familiar - burnished hair, grey eyes…same shape…an older version of Kathryn. He stared long at her.

"Good evening, Commander," she said in a soft voice. She looked sad, he thought, with a half smile hovering on her lips.

"You are Kathryn's mother."

"I am."

"Do you know where she is?"

"I wish I could tell you. She went missing while staying with us in Indiana, after her last counselling session."

He knew captains of starships had to undergo obligatory counselling. Kathryn, he also knew, would have been an unwilling participant.

"Why would she agree to be subjected to something she wouldn't have wanted?" he asked Gretchen Janeway. "Something doesn't add up."

Gretchen Janeway gave a deep sigh and nodded.

"Commander, you know my daughter indeed. She didn't tell us everything of what happened on Xerxes. Your…death had all but destroyed her by the time Voyager returned home. She needed to bring it into the open. It was eating her up inside. Counsellor Deanna Troi helped her."

"What - ?"

"She lied in the official logs. Everyone believed that you had been the transgressor, including your crew. They still don't know. It's only some of Starfleet and her closest family."

"Then I would appreciate it if it stayed that way. Kathryn would want that, I'm certain."

"Commander, I'm here to - to…" Gretchen Janeway was suddenly at a loss. She looked uncertain.

"What is it?"

"Kathryn…I don't believe she is missing in the perceived sense. She's just gone off…to find closure, I think. She might return at any time. It can be tomorrow or - "

"Or never. I know her well, Mrs. Janeway. Kathryn will stay away as long as possible. She believes me dead. She has seen my body burn, if the account of the doctor is correct. I understand how she must feel right now…what she must be going through. You know what she suffered when your husband and her fiancé died. You've seen that Kathryn. I haven't. But I know how depression can destroy her... I need her…"

"That's why I've come to ask you…' Gretchen paused, touched his hand gently. "You are very welcome to be a guest in my home, to recover there. I…think of you as my son…"

He closed his eyes. He was alone, with a sister on Dorvan to whom he was dead. The closest he had been to anyone was Kathryn. He needed time, but he also knew that with Gretchen Janeway's help, with the Admirals' assistance, he could remain incognito until he found Kathryn. It might not be such a bad idea. He needed to think, to ponder for a second time in two months why the spirits sought to keep him alive.  
So he nodded.

"Thank you…"

Gretchen Janeway gave a deep sigh. "My daughter…you must understand… your appearance here alive… It is spectacular. Kathryn will be overjoyed, Chakotay."

"Perhaps not, Mrs Janeway. But you can depend upon it that I will find her…"

Gretchen Janeway’s face became grave again. The question that had lurked in the eyes of the doctor, the admirals and now Kathryn’s mother… He knew what she was going to ask before she even spoke out, yet he waited for her to voice her thoughts.

"Kathryn…is without her commbadge, Chakotay. We were hoping you would know where to find her…"

He closed his eyes. There were so many possibilities… In the holodeck they'd recreated the Bridge of Sighs in Venice, a beautiful city of canals which Kathryn loved. They'd ridden in gondolas with a gondolier named Andretti who sang Santa Lucia. They'd sat on the edge of the Grand Canyon, both feeling the power of Unseen Things, just sitting there and breathing in the vastness of a geographical marvel. They'd been in the caves on Mars, where Kathryn had gone spelunking with her late father when she'd been a teen, and with her friends which included Mark Johnson. He'd recreated the habak on Dorvan where his father had often gone for his vision quests. He hadn't been on Dorvan since his fifteenth year and he'd promised Kathryn that once they were home, he'd take her there… 

In the last year they'd grown closer than ever before. It had been a revelation seeing Kathryn relax, seeing her find a balance at last between duty to her crew and pure delightful enjoyment of being just…Kathryn. He'd been unable to contain his own delight at the way she'd bounded up the steps of the shrine on Xerxes where she'd waited for him to propose to her. Her eyes had been alive then as he'd never ever seen them before. For those few treasured moments of paradise, he'd belonged to her. He didn't have to share her with a hundred and forty others. He'd been hers; she'd given him her undivided attention. He'd made a silent pledge then that he would love her forever…forever. 

If Kathryn had gone into hiding somewhere he'd turn the planet inside out to find her, though one place seemed to flash before him. One place…one place only…for that was where Kathryn had once told him that if time could stand still for a second stretched into eternity, she'd wait for him there…

"Commander?" he heard Gretchen Janeway's concerned voice from the distance. 

He opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented. Then he focused on her.

"You were gone there for a few seconds…"

"I will find her," he vowed. 

 

***


	3. Chapter 3

Senora Mercedes Mendoza had only one guest in her small bed and breakfast abode in the picturesque village of Monte Fuentes on the Yucatan Peninsula. Kathryn Janeway had arrived a month ago and quietly stated that she was going to stay indefinitely. 

Mercedes thought her to be the saddest woman she had ever seen. It was not so much in her bearing or her voice when she spoke, but in the sorrow that clouded her eyes. Mercedes had had a husband who'd read Earth literature and the literature of Vulcan as well as the more robust works of the authors of Kronos. He would always tell her that the eyes were the windows to the soul.

As if she did not know that herself, but Diego Mendoza - may his spirit dwell in peace - had always tried to encourage her to read his kind of books. And she'd gently resisted his attempts to turn her into a literary intellectual. Why read so much? she always wondered. Since her youth, she had immersed herself in the history of her people and tracing them to other worlds where they'd settled more than two hundred years ago. Diego - may his spirit rest forever - had frowned upon her interest in dwelling on past things. She had always thought he never appreciated that her mind worked differently from his. But she had loved him and he'd loved her. When he died, she knew that her work would continue and more than anything, that kept her from dwelling too much on his passing, on missing him too much. 

Her own forefathers had sought to remain in the Yucatan while many of her tribal ancestors had settled on the planet Dorvan V. When the planet was destroyed and all its inhabitants died, the last of her distant relations also died. That had been a sad day in the history of her people, but, she thought, that incident, which had killed off an entire world, would always be remembered in history, too. Now, of course, many who had once lived on Dorvan and settled elsewhere before its destruction had returned to their homeworld to embark on its reconstruction. Her "Dialogues of Dorvan" would live longer than her Diego - may his spirit rest - would ever be remembered just for reading literature. 

Soon after Dorvan's destruction, a young warrior had come to her abode. His people had lived on Dorvan and he had lost everyone near and dear to him, except a sister who had lived on one of the other worlds in the Demilitarised Zone and survived the Cardassian purge. She had seen the rage in his eyes. Rage that had still been there when he left. She had not tried to intervene in his sorrow, but one night when he'd sat at the same table where Kathryn Janeway was enjoying her breakfast, he'd spoken to her, finding in her a good listener and more than able storyteller. 

She told him a little story about a warrior who was angry all his life, but whose anger had been changed to peace by a woman. He had listened with a quiet dignity, nodding as she'd related her tale to him. Yet even as she told him the tale of a princess who'd settled peace in the angry warrior's heart, she'd seen how the anger still lurked in his eyes. She knew then that he had not made peace with his people, that his rage was not only because his planet had been destroyed. Perhaps his rage was rooted in guilt as well, guilt that he had not spoken to his parents and brothers and sisters in years. Yes, she had seen it in his eyes. He had not been healed when he left. 

The eyes were the windows to the soul. 

Diego had voiced what she had always felt. She was not born yesterday and had lived twice as long as her guest who sat right now quietly enjoying her breakfast. Kathryn Janeway's eyes revealed her pain. Mercedes gave a sigh. Most of her guests who arrived at the Casa del Mar were battered souls who came to recharge and reclaim their lives. Not many came for the simple enjoyment of the Yucatan. She had to agree that the ancient pyramids, the feeling that the spirits of her people dwelled in gentle harmony, the air that seemed to vibrate with healing made the Yucatan just the right place to infuse one with wellness. 

What, she wondered, could put such sorrow in Kathryn Janeway's eyes? Sorrow that seemed to pierce through the surface, yet strangely, strangely, contained an element of hidden joy in them? Mercedes never questioned her guests. But it gave her great satisfaction reading their history in their eyes. They did not have to tell her much. She was not inquisitive about details, and many who had visited her home in the past opened up naturally to her after a few days in the healing sun and air of the Yucatan. Stories of lost loves, of unendurable pain, of hurt and loss… Aye, they came to her as broken souls and left more assured about their futures.

Except the angry warrior.

She hoped that when Kathryn Janeway left, she'd be more centered. 

"Is there anything more you would like, Ms Janeway?" she asked when she approached Kathryn's table. She noticed that the woman never wore her commbadge, and who was she to divulge the whereabouts of her guests when she could sense they did not want to be found?

"No, thank you, Mrs Mendoza," Kathryn answered. "Your omelette was delicious. I feel I've eaten a horse!"

Mercedes thought her guest must be lying, or their ideas of size differed considerably. There was still three quarters of her omelette left and her glass was still half full of orange juice. The coffee too, she noted, was not touched at all. She'd placed three slices of toast on a small plate and Kathryn had eaten only one. Her little ramekin of butter remained smooth. 

"I can see that," Mercedes mumbled good-naturedly. She'd give the rest of the omelette and toast later to Ortega, the tame ocelot that always scrounged for food in her backyard.

"Well, thank you. I'm going out for most of the day. Tonight, I promise to eat all my food," Kathryn Janeway replied, looking a little guilty.

"Please, do not wander too far, Miss. There are sinkholes that appear safe but they are not…"

"Do not worry, Mrs Mendoza. I can take good care of myself. I'll be visiting ancient sites today…"

"That is good. Please be careful on those steps…"

"I'm not old, Mrs Mendoza," Kathryn responded with a smile as she rose from the table.

"But you are with child…"

"How…?"

"I have lived longer than you, Ms Janeway. Just take care, will you?"

The younger woman looked at her as if she wanted to speak. Her eyes welled suddenly. 

"The father…" Mercedes ventured for once, "he is not with you?"

"He…died."

"But his spirit is with you. I can sense that."

"I…yes," Kathryn said. "I feel him as if he were still with me."

"Then he was a warrior…like the ancient people of the Yucatan…"

Kathryn's eyes widened and Mercedes gave a knowing nod as she returned the younger woman's gaze. In her eyes the sorrow seemed to lift. Suddenly she felt herself drawn into a hug as Kathryn's arms went round her. When she broke the contact seconds later, Kathryn smiled.

"Thank you for caring, Mrs Mendoza…"

Long after Kathryn Janeway had left the abode and Mercedes was clearing the table where Kathryn had sat, she still thought about the younger woman. She felt it in her bones that something would happen today to change the deep mourning in Kathryn Janeway's eyes to happiness.

Yes, she thought. Today was the day things would change. There was a gentle breeze blowing over the Yucatan and it carried the whisperings of one thought to be long gone.

* 

El Castillo formed the main pyramid of Chichén Itzá on the Yucatan peninsula. A series of steps rose from each side to the top platform, a magnificent feat of architecture on which all the steps including the platform itself totalled 365. 

Kathryn stood at the bottom of the west side, contemplating walking up the ninety one steps to the top. Something was holding her back from taking the first step. 

She thought she heard voices. Her voice and Chakotay's voice. A different flight of stone steps. A different world. 

She saw herself rushing to the top, then turning to look down to see Chakotay still standing near the base. She heard herself calling him to walk up the steps and propose to her. His face was filled with rapture as he started the flight up. Suddenly the figure rushing up to her burst into flames…

For a moment Kathryn closed her eyes tightly. Her chest burned from the effort of holding her breath. Opening her eyes, she felt a little disappointed to see herself standing at the same spot at the base of Chichén Itzá. She shook her head trying to dispel the horrifying image of a burning body on a stone tablet. She willed herself to remember Deanna Troi's words, her stepfather's gentle reassurance, her mother's solace. 

Remember him for the good man he was…

Yet, she could feel Chakotay here, in the Yucatan. How strange it was! Now that he was no longer with her, she felt his presence so strongly, like a spirit blowing across the peninsula. Perhaps old Mrs Mendoza was right. He was everywhere. 

Kathryn touched her belly briefly. A physical presence, his legacy, although she was certain that not once during their night of passion had they thought of legacies and babies. Chakotay's last letter to her spoke of his undying devotion to her, that his death would be in her honour, that in dying he would be worthy of her. No, they had not thought of offspring, yet she clung to it as if her very life depended on it. For in his dying, he would be living. Deanna Troi had had one last session with her and they had spoken openly of Chakotay's death, of the way forward for her.

Yet as she stood at the bottom of El Castillo, thoughts of a living Chakotay rushed to her, crowding her memories. Especially images of him rushing up the steps of the altar, then falling down… They had been so happy then, with not a care in the world except that they declare their commitment to one another. She saw his smiling eyes, the dimples, the crooked grin, heard his halting promises of love in the deep of the night.

Kathryn touched her cheek, surprised to find it wet. She stared at the top of the pyramid, looked at the evenly carved steps that led to the top.

I can't do this…

In a jerking motion, she moved away and turned her back to the pyramid. She missed him, missed him too much. She imagined him in every stone, every tree, every gentle breeze that blew over the Yucatan. Suddenly, inexplicably, she cursed the fact that she had come to this part of the world to find peace. 

Peace eluded her. Sighing, she walked away, wondering where else she could go. Perhaps spend the day far away from the Yucatan, and return only this evening. She knew Mercedes Mendoza would be concerned. On an impulse she hurried back to the flitter and engaged a start-up sequence. Perhaps visiting the old Inca excavations in Peru…

*** 

It was early afternoon when Mercedes Mendoza was alerted to someone knocking at her door. She had just started Codex XXIV of the Dialogues of Dorvan which spoke about an ancient warrior making a promise of everlasting devotion to a warrior princess when the sound distracted her.

She walked slowly to the door. It couldn't be her guest, for Kathryn had her own codes. She opened the door. A man stood there. A man whose skin flaked, yet it had a tone similar to her own, similar to the people of Dorvan, one with the Yucatan. His features were hard and soft and determined. She stared long at the stranger who was not really a stranger to her. Familiarity came with his bearing, the whisperings on the breeze over the land of the spirit people. The visitor looked rugged despite what she thought must have been a recent, serious illness. He was dressed in casually, shirt open at the neck, close fitting pants and boots. Despite his dress, he had a military bearing. 

He had been in her home before. Then he had been an angry, restless young man.

"I know you…" old Mercedes said softly, wonder in her voice. "And I know whom you seek…"

"My name is - "

"Chakotay, born of Kolopak and Hannah of Dorvan, grandson of Kukulcan."

Chakotay frowned heavily. "How do you know?"

"I know. Once…many years ago, you came to my abode. Your homeworld had just been destroyed. You could find no peace, Chakotay of Dorvan…"

"I remember that you are a historian researching the history of our people."

"Aye. I have forgotten my manners. Please come inside." 

Mercedes stepped aside and guided him into the cool lounge. Although there was a slight breeze, it was enough to fan the high temperatures. Chakotay gave a relieved sigh, his face becoming sombre again as he looked at her. 

"You said you know whom I seek…" His look was expectant, though unable to hide surprise from it. 

"She is not here right now."

"I understand, though I thought I might reserve a room for a few days so that I could search for her."

Mercedes nodded, thinking how her earlier thoughts that something would happen today had come to pass. 

"Yes, Chakotay. Kathryn Janeway is a guest in my home. I cannot tell you where to find her. She goes off every day. I know not where, but I am certain you will know." 

"I do have an idea. Thank you, Mrs Mendoza. My search has narrowed significantly. H-how is she?" he asked, his voice suddenly faltering. 

"Kathryn Janeway seeks peace. She is filled with deep sorrow. She told me that you are no longer alive. I have told her you fly on the wind of the Yucatan. Treat her gently, great warrior, for if she believes you to be dead, her heart may not take in what is here before me."

"I know. I have thought about this often, how she will react to seeing me alive."

"Then I wish you well. I trust you will put the stars where they belong."

** 

Kathryn Janeway turned away from the Inca ruins, feeling too restless to admire the beauty of Machu Picchu, or to imagine its people in ancient times, their industry, their rituals, their lives. Her mind had been too much on Chakotay today and occasionally she imagined she could hear his voice calling her, or imagine that one of the other tourists who had visited the various ruins looked like him. Once, she'd almost touched a man's shoulder, thinking it was Chakotay.

So she turned back and returned to the Yucatan, to visit once again the Great Ixthipo Cenote. On Voyager, Chakotay had recreated the magnificent sinkhole and they'd often swum in its waters on the holodeck on those days when they could relax and simply enjoy each other's company. Yes, that was what she was going to do. She'd visited the cenote every day simply to feel his presence there. 

Once she had made up her mind, she hurried to her flitter and sped away from the ancient ruins. Earth, she decided, revealed so much beauty, it was a wonder that not more people sought to explore it. Natural formations that were not seen on other planets, not even those in the Delta Quadrant, abounded on Earth's continents. 

She remembered Gathorel Labin's pleasure planet Sikaris, a world that exuded its own beauty. Many times she'd been tempted by these worlds, but none held the certain untamed beauty of Earth's natural geographical features - the Grand Canyon, the great lakes, waterfalls that took one's breath away, natural formations, the last remaining ice shelves of the Antarctic…. 

For a brief moment Xerxes flashed before her, Xerxes, the most beautiful planet of the Delta Quadrant. She pulled her thoughts away from Xerxes, from those memories and focused on the sinkholes instead.

The Great Ixthipo could be entered only from an opening on the surface, large enough to allow three or four persons to lower down simultaneously. A metal rail surrounded the opening, and anyone daring enough could use one of the ropes dangling from the rail to scale down the twenty meters into the large cavern and descend on a narrow platform which led to the water's edge. The large pond was quite deep, and from Chakotay she'd learned that it contained an underwater passage that led to another cavern. 

The rope she chose had knots which the climber could use to brace himself. The other ropes were smooth. During one of their visits in the holodeck cenote she had used the smooth rope and collected several burns on her palms for her efforts. Chakotay had berated her at the time, since she'd secretly left the safeties on. 

Now she clambered down slowly, carefully. She was breathing hard. She imagined that her raspy breath created echoes in the cavern. She was the only one there, it seemed. When she made contact with the platform, she released the rope and remained standing for several minutes, breathing in deeply. 

Kathryn closed her eyes and threw her head back.

Here she felt closest to Chakotay. This, the wellspring of his world. She heard her own words, spoken to him maybe a year ago on Voyager, a pledge she'd made.

If time could stand still for a second stretched into eternity, I'd wait for you here.

She heard his words, from a great distance. I know you will be my cool brook forever.

He was no longer alive but he felt alive to her. She would never see him again, yet in every rock, every leaf that rustled in the breeze, every grain of sand, every morning that unfailingly delivered the rising sun, he was there. If she stretched out her hands now, she believed that she'd feel his hands on hers, reassuring her that everything would be alright. 

A sob escaped her. A tear rolled down her cheek. She wondered absently whether she would ever forget a him. Even now, down here in this cavern of the Ixthipo she could hear him calling her. Softly, insistent. 

Kathryn…Kathryn…Kathryn…

Was she imagining things again, like two days ago when she'd stood here too? Was her yearning so profound that she could actually hear Chakotay calling her name? She pictured his burning body on an altar on Xerxes, that traitorous planet that cast her forever in darkness. No, it couldn't be. Never. 

Chakotay had died.

Kathryn…

There. Again. His voice. Courage flew from her, left her cowardly, keeping her eyes still closed. Disappointment would be too great. Too great. Do not open your eyes, Kathryn. 

Kathryn…please…

Against her will, her eyes flew open. She stared straight ahead, afraid to look around. Yet it was straight ahead that a shadow lurked. It was impossible, her rational mind reasoned, that she could recognize the outline as Chakotay, because he could not be. Could she have ached for him so forcefully that some extraordinary Force could hurl him from that fiery altar so that he stood where he was standing now? Her mind whirled at the possibility and implausibility. Yet, she could not stop her mouth from forming his name. 

"Chakotay…?"

He moved forward slowly, a silhouette in the half shadow created by the stream of light from the opening of the cavern.

Then, the moment he stood clear of the shadows she could see his face, his physique. Like an apparition stealing upon her, he moved to the water's edge. Her arms, she realised absently, were still outstretched expectantly.

His skin, she noticed, appeared flaky as if it had been burnt and was now in the process of healing. It changed his colouring from a deep tan to pale. When he smiled, however, dimples formed in his cheeks. Kathryn blinked.

This could not be Chakotay. She had seen him die, engulfed in flames that seemed to consume his body. No, her Chakotay was dead. This was a phantom, a desert mirage that taunted the thirsty, weary traveller. She was certain that once he came closer, he would disappear again, slowly dissolve and become one with the air around her. 

She could not have gone through so much trauma, not have grieved so ceaselessly, not have longed so desperately for nothing, only to have him show up like a lost coin. The gods were playing an elaborate game of deception with her, playing with her mind, her sanity, her very existence, having fun at her expense. God, she decided, must be testing her resolve.

She had dreamed, yes, dreamed of just such an unlikely scenario in which Chakotay would miraculously come to life and tell her all is well with him, that he hadn't burned to death on the altar of Xerxes. Day after day in the last month she'd been here, she'd imagined him as part of her, present in the air, the rocks, the water, the ancient ruins.

This was not Chakotay.

Not Chakotay.

It was an evil incarnation of him, a mirage that teased without mercy, that would leave the moment she called him again. .

Kathryn took a step back, her movement halted by the rail behind her.

"You are…dead…it cannot be…"

He stepped on the wooden platform and came slowly towards her.

She backed further against the railing, feeling it give way.

"I am Chakotay, Kathryn," he spoke softly, calmly, his hand outstretched to her.

"Chakotay died. I saw him die… You are a shadow…a figment…you're playing tricks…"

"No, I am not. Kathryn, please don't move. Please."

"Don't come any closer. I'll - "

She heard a snap, felt herself pitching backwards into the water. Somewhere, somewhere, she remembered that there was another tunnel underwater… As if from afar she heard a scream.

"Kathryn!!"

The water engulfed her, the sudden entry into it stunning her momentarily, dazing her enough that she felt herself pulled into a deep chasm. By the time she reacted, it was too late as her body was sucked forward through a tunnel…

 

******


	4. Chapter 4

He was ready to wait forever for her here in the Great Ixthipo Cenote that they'd frequented on the holodeck of Voyager in the last year of their journey. They'd made each other that promise even though at the time it seemed just words that burst from them in the heat of their assurances.

Now that had become reality. He'd been granted Grace by a higher power, the grace of living, of being alive. He was ready to tell Kathryn, to show her he was real, in the flesh, that his body did not burn, that the Elders of Xerxes had been so astounded by the miracle that had taken place, he had to tell them about his world, of the power of Sacrifice.

Yes, he would die for her all over again if he were ever confronted by such a dreadful demand again, for her and in her name, because that is what he'd do as a best friend, closest confidant, fearless warrior, and beloved. 

Senora Mendoza had sensed it wasn't necessary to tell him of Kathryn's exact whereabouts here in the Yucatan, just that Kathryn was here. He knew that she'd visit this sinkhole, that she'd be drawn to it as he had been in the impetuous days of his youth. Years later he'd come here, enraged when everyone on Dorvan had died needlessly. He hadn’t had time to say goodbye to his mother or to make peace with his father. That guilt rode him for a long time until one day, in deep distress, he engaged in a vision quest and saw Kolopak. 

He had no family, only his sister who'd returned to Dorvan to immerse herself in its reconstruction. In a rare communication through the Pathfinder Project, he'd learned that and been grateful. 

Kathryn's family had become his in the years when she had spoken so often about them. Her mother, the kind, austere looking Admiral Ponsonby, her sister. The way she talked of them, he always felt as close as she did. She'd spoken to him about his father and he'd been humbled by her understanding.

It was Kathryn, her presence, her total sense of commitment, her order, her belief in justice, in making peace, who'd been instrumental in his healing. Sometimes he had loved her blindly with the helplessness, the instinct of a small child. Other times jealousy enraged him when another man vied for her affections. Most of the time the feeling had been a constant running stream. Whenever he felt a raging thirst for her, he'd tap into that brook and drink until he was quenched. 

Then in the last year…

She had answered every prayer he'd ever uttered in the seven years of their journey. Knowing that she too would have done the same for him, to die on the Altar of Xerxes, deepened his love a thousandfold. Now he was ready to tell her, to show her he was still alive, he was still with her, he would love her forever, that thoughts of her had never been far from his conscious mind.

It was hot inside the sinkhole. He'd been standing in the shadows for perhaps two hours, listening, listening, to footsteps outside, a sound that would denote a presence. Then it happened. It was well into the late afternoon when he heard the sounds outside. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Kathryn. He had had no visualisation of anyone else coming to the cenote. 

Then he saw her clamber carefully down the knotted rope, gingerly putting her feet down on the platform when she reached the bottom.

She stood still a few moments, her head thrown back, her arms outstretched, her eyes closed. He heard her words of so long ago… 

If time could stand still for a second stretched into eternity, I'd wait for you here.

Then my dear, I hope that you will not have to wait forever.

He had always known that this place would bring Kathryn back to him. 

So he stepped out of the shadow, softly calling her name. He saw the way her head cocked, as if she was uncertain about the sound or whether she'd heard him. Her hands were outstretched. What, he wondered, was she thinking at that very moment? 

"Kathryn…" he called again.

Her eyes flew open. She looked straight at him. It was a look of perplexity, of disbelief. 

"You are…dead…it cannot be…" she said softly. 

He watched her step back as he stepped closer to her. The rail behind her stopped further movement. 

"I am Chakotay, Kathryn," he reassured her, taking another step forward, a hand outstretched..

"No…" she insisted. "Chakotay died. I saw him die… You are a shadow…a figment…you're playing tricks on me."

She backed away from him, her eyes large with distrust. She was standing against the rail. If she didn't watch out…

"No, I am not a figment. Feel me, I am real. Kathryn! Stand still! Please, don't move."

But it seemed she wasn't listening or believing him. 

"Don't come any closer! You're not real. No! Don't come nearer. Keep away from me! I'll - "

The rail snapped, gave way. Kathryn pitched backwards into the water. 

"Kathryn!!"

She was gone instantly, as if the water simply sucked her in.

He rushed forward and dived in after her. He knew about the underwater tunnel, the unexpected strong pull like a riptide, knew that he'd have to swim about thirty metres before it exited on the other side. Thirty metres was not far for a young cadet, but for him, for Kathryn, it could be an eternity. The exit was in an adjoining cavern. The water engulfed him, the first wave of it sucking him in as it had Kathryn. With a few hard strokes and furious kicking he reached her, grabbing her first by the ankle. She kicked frantically at him, fighting him off. He lost his hold on her. She was going to drown, he feared. He tried again, but she kicked again, her foot making contact with his face. 

Finally, he managed to come up alongside her. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her along with him, kicking furiously the rest of the way. His chest was burning. Kathryn had become quiescent. 

They burst through the water into the adjoining cavern. Chakotay sputtered. Kathryn lay still against him. Quickly Chakotay pulled her to a small sandy ledge where he turned her on her back and shook her.

"Kathryn!" 

An overwhelming love surged through him, accompanied by an overpowering fear as he suddenly bent over her and began resuscitation. He'd done it once before, when he thought she'd surely die. Now the urgency was upon him again as he started the procedure, placing one hand over the other on her chest pushing downward, using his bodyweight for added pressure. He screamed wordlessly like he had that first time, how she must not die on him. 

It wasn't long before Kathryn sputtered and he turned her on her side so that she could expel excess water. She coughed a few times, then suddenly lunged at him.

"Kathryn, what are - ?"

But she paid no attention to his surprised outcry as she began thrashing, striking him - his face, his chest, pouncing, then grabbing and biting into his flesh. She paused momentarily to stare at him.

"Chakotay died!" 

He didn't cry out again, simply let her strike him without offering resistance. 

"He took my place and died. He was a warrior among warriors. Who - who are you?"

Several times she stopped suddenly, caressing briefly the area where his tattoo had been, half mystified at the absence of it. Then abruptly she would lash out again in wordless aggression, grunting from the effort of striking him. After she cried out again, gasping as she did so.

"Stop haunting me. You're in my thoughts, in my dreams, everywhere. Stop haunting me, for God's sake!"

She scratched, her nails clawing deep grooves along his arms and open chest, then struck him again in unremitting measure. 

"Yes…" he coaxed. "Feel me, Kathryn. It is me. I will explain everything…"

"No…Chakotay had a tattoo. My Chakotay had a tattoo. You are a counterfeit, posing as him. Chakotay died…before my very eyes…"

On and on the blows continued until she was spent and fell back, breathing heavily, staring dazedly at him before she burst into tears. Only then he reacted, scooping her up in his arms while she sobbed. He felt his own eyes prick with tears. Even through the wet clothing, she felt warm, feverish. 

He had dreamed every moment about seeing her again, how he'd show her his undying love, how he'd tell her about the people of Xerxes and the new tenets they had adopted for their lives, how Oberon Suhl had become a changed man after witnessing Chakotay's magnificent sacrifice. Chakotay must have wept, for tears ran unchecked over his cheeks. 

He had dreamed of her in his arms, in just such a scene, for he had known that his appearance would unsettle her. But she was his treasured other half, forever bound to him by love. He saw her again as she stood on the steps of the altar, her hair lifting in the gentle breeze, her face full of laughter, a Kathryn as he had never seen her. And then his heart bled again for the hurt, the suffering she must have endured thinking he was lost to her forever. 

He wanted to protect her now, shield her with the very life that he had been willing to give up for her. His lips pressed into her hair, against her damp, warm cheeks. He felt faint, just brushing his lips against hers in a reverent caress. 

A few minutes after she moved to look into his eyes. The relief that she recognised him was overpowering. 

 

"I was caught in a horrible dream…a dream in which you walked towards me, and then I would wake up. You were not there. A mirage." Kathryn shuddered at her own words.

He could see she was coming to grips with a new reality. The question of "Who are you?" was simply an affirmation of a truth that was dawning slowly on her. He tried to lift her, to hold her against him, but as wet as they were, as distraught as she still was, she resisted the action, her eyes fixed on what should have been his tattoo.

"You burned to death…" she whispered, a sob escaping. "I cannot believe you are here…in the flesh…"

"I ache deep inside knowing what you must have gone through, suffered. 

All the while he spoke, Kathryn was touching him, even pressing her lips against his. He let her do so. She needed confirmation that he was real. Whole stories still needed to be told. That, he realised, would come in time. 

"You drugged me…"

"Aye. I knew that what I was going to do, I had to do without your knowledge, without your consent, otherwise you would never have let me go. I couldn't let you go, sweetheart."

"So," she began, "are you going to prove once and for all you are who you say you are?" she asked in a muffled voice, since her mouth was brushing his earlobe. 

He gave a sigh of contentment. Kathryn was recovering from her shock; the Kathryn he knew - sharp, amusing, even edgy, was slowly emerging. 

"I wrote you a letter…remember? I placed it under your pillow. "

She stopped the caress and shifted to gaze into his eyes.

"It seems that all my life I have fought for a worthy cause…" she began, her fingers caressing his forehead almost reverently.

And he continued, "When my homeworld was destroyed, I fought for the freedom of all oppressed, in the name of freedom, in the name of what I believed good and worthy and honourable…"

"You remember that?" she asked. "You remember that you said, "Always, there has been something worth fighting for, and none more so than fighting for you, beloved…?"

"A love such as I have for you is only complete if I can be worthy of you…"

"You are a noble warrior, Chakotay."

"I put a ring on your finger." He took her hand and twisted the ring so that its signet could be seen in the dim light from above. "The hunab ku symbol… I chose the symbol for you…for us…"

"H-how did you s-survive?" she asked, her eyes finally filling with tears. "You look so burned still…"

"Although my body burned, the flames did not consume me, beloved. I must tell you something of what the Xerxians have discovered and adopted for their society."

"What is it?"

"They told me," he began, "that only one truly guilty of an offence would have burned to death. Then they wanted to know in whose name I was prepared to bring the highest offer a human can bring. I told them in the name of her, whom I love with all my heart…"

Her fingertips touched his lips in a gentle caress. "Damon and Pythias…"

"Who…?" he asked, the reference not known to him.

"Pythias was sentenced to death in ancient Syracuse. He was not allowed to return home to say a final goodbye to his family. His closest friend Damon agreed to be executed in his place should Pythias not return. He returned just as they were about to execute Damon. The king was so taken by this exhibition of supreme trust and loyalty between true friends that he spared them both."

Chakotay nodded, understanding fully. His heart burst with pride, with love and loyalty. It was exactly how Oberon Suhl's reaction had been Chakotay's supreme sacrifice had filled the Supreme Legate with humility.

"Do you remember, Kathryn, how we spoke in the early days on Voyager about trust and loyalty… Even then we were destined to be great friends…the best…"

"The nature of sacrifice," she began, "is such that it goes far deeper than the tangible. It is a conscious surrender of the self for the sake of love, loyalty, personal belief and affiliation, but mostly, for the sake of love."

"I could not let you die, Kathryn…I couldn't. My spirit would have been restless forever if you had died…"

"You are truly great."

"I am only me, Kathryn," he said. 

She touched his lips with the tips of her fingers. He closed his eyes. 

"I know now," he heard her say. Then, "Although I don't quite understand how… Your skin…it appears burnt, in the process of healing. What did happen to you? How did you get away?"

"They built me another Delta Flyer. Remember I told you that they'd scanned us? Well, a month after the event, I was ready to leave. They escorted me to the space fracture. I guess with the Flyer being a small vessel, and Xerxian technology not quite compatible with Federation technology in building the vessel…too many things went wrong the second I went through the wormhole. Suffice to say, I suffered severe injuries when I exited near the Randor System and was immediately fired upon…"

Kathryn touched his arm lightly, a frown marring her forehead. The EMH had given him the assurance that good warm weather, sunlight and time would heal his skin completely. Dead skin was already peeling off, his normal tone reappearing in blotches all over his body. 

"Which resulted in these burns?" she asked him softly.

"Aye. Voyager's EMH fixed me up, though I'm not fully recovered…"

"When you visit the Rubber Tree People again for your new tattoo, I'm going with you."

"Yes, Kathryn."

"Chakotay…."

"Hmmm?"

"We have to get out of here." 

"I know…" 

He assessed their situation. They were trapped in the secondary cenote of the Great Ixthipo. Kathryn had almost drowned on their passage into this cave. There was no other way out but to swim back. Her look of concern mirrored his own as he surveyed the area. He'd been on this side only once before, as a young cadet full of bravado, holding his breath with effortless ease.

"Falling backwards caught me by surprise. I'll swim through…" she assured him. "Now tell me more…please, so I can understand."

The steam was wafting off them. Very soon he knew they'd be dry again. For now he'd sketch the bare details but Kathryn being Kathryn would want to know everything. She was still holding on to him, caressing his arm, his chest, his face in what he knew was assurance that he was alive and no longer a mirage. 

"I have rewritten all my logs from the day I was removed from the Altar of Xerxes to when I was brought to Starfleet Medical. As soon as we're out here, you can read them."

He rose, pulling her up with him. For a moment he cupped her head against him, her nearness intoxicating. Unable to stop himself, he kissed her in feverish touches against her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. 

"Spirits, Kathryn, you cannot know how I have longed for this moment…"

"We have been blessed by a higher power," she murmured back. "Nothing less spiritual than that could have given you back to me, or think that you were unworthy."

Finally, when he was able to let her stand a little away from him, he looked deeply into her eyes.

"Ready to go, my love?"

"Before we go…I must tell you, Chakotay, that your sacrifice was not in vain."

It seemed an aura surrounded her as she spoke. Light dawned on him slowly. 

"Kathryn…?"

"Yes. A son…"

************* 

END

 

EPILOGUE

The stone stairs leading up to the highest point of the altar were breath-taking. Everywhere there were people of Xerxes surrounding the altar. Chakotay stood at the bottom of the steps. He was in Starfleet dress uniform, with four rank pips adorning the collar of his shirt. Hands at his side, he stood ready to make the journey to the top.

He gazed around him. Xerxes had never looked more beautiful in its natural splendour. The planet should have had bad memories for everyone on Voyager who had joined this mission, yet the moment they arrived, they had been filled with the wonder of its peacefulness that pervaded the air around them, as well as the hospitality of its inhabitants. 

He looked at the members of his senior crew - Tom Paris, now his first officer, Harry Kim, his old friend Mike Ayala, B'Elanna, Seven of Nine… B'Elanna gave him a fierce nod, a reassuring smile. She was cradling baby Kolopak in her arms. It had shocked him when Kathryn told him of her pregnancy, that he'd left her with a legacy, a child whom they both treasured, whom the family simply adored. 

Sighing, he turned to look at the top of the altar steps. Kathryn stood there in a flowing white gown. He couldn't help but remember how she'd stood there, a little more than a year ago and he'd rushed up to propose to her. 

Fey and stunningly beautiful after Kolopak's birth. Next to Kathryn stood the first legate of Xerxes, Oberon Suhl, who would be conducting the renewal of their vows. The moment Suhl nodded, Chakotay began walking slowly up the steps to meet his wife.

****  
REALLY THE END!


End file.
